Remembering is easy and hard all at the same time. I feel compelled to tell my story, yet somehow, I can’t make myself recall all the horrorable things that I know happened to me. There is so much, but still so little. Nothing is what it should be, but everything is exactly the way I remember it. Fear and pain, that’s what I remember best.
It started at school on a day like any other. There was no sign that something terrible lay waiting for us only hours from then. We went to all of our classes, made sure we weren’t late, ate lunch like usual, then went to fifth period.
They called us down for a school seminar and we all herded to the auditorium. It was a large room with blue curtains on the stage and stiff wooden chairs in the isles. Three doors led into the room, all of which shut behind us as we sat.
Nothing was on the stage, no presentor, no computer, no power point presentation to draw our attention. There was only a man with a big black bag standing before us.
“Cell phones?” The man asked.
We just looked at him. His slick black hair and beady brown eyes, the way his suit fit him like spandex and showed every thing that we didn’t want to see, his bogus yellow tie that looked like it was made out of Big Bird feathers.
“Do any of you have cell phones?” He asked us.
Naturally, three out of four kids stuck their hands up into the air.
“Good.” He said, “Now, my name is Guy, no Mr., there’s no need to be formal about these sorts of things.”
Silently, we all whispered about what sorts of “things” he was getting ready to talk about.
“How many of you text in class?” He asked, adding, “No one’s going to send you to the office for being honest, now speak up.”
Most of us raised our hands, looking around at out teachers, watching their faces.
“Isn’t that anoying,Teachers?” He asked, “Don’t you hate it when your students have ‘better’ people to pay attention to than you when you are giving them a lesson, trying to teach them something important?”
They all nodded and began swaping stories of how they caught their students with their cell phones out in their classes.
“Well, I have a solution.” Guy proclaimed,slapping frowns onto the faces of his audience. He reached into his bag and pulled out a box. It was black, about a two inch cube, with pointed edges.
“This, my children, is an Electro-Box.” He told us.
We all looked at each other, wondering what exactly an Electro-Box was and what it was going to do to our cell phones.
“An Electro-Box,” Guy explained, “Eats electronics.”
The auditorium gasped, teachers and students alike.
“Anything with a pulse will be destroyed.” He said flatly.
I looked from person to person and I saw that each student felt what I was feeling. He said “pulse”. None of us knew what that might mean. Then I looked at each teacher in turn, finding that same look on their faces as well. Something, if not twin to then very close to fear.
A large woman in a pink blouse, I think she taught ninth grade english, tried to excuse herself from the room and found the door locked. She walked with a facade of calmness down to the principal. His face went white and he quickly walked with her up to the door. He tried key after key, but it did not open.
“These nice little gadgets come in handy when trying to solve any problem.” Guy continued. “In the early years of World War Two, Hitler had a similar item made to help him control the Jewish population. But what it did to those people was so,” He paused, “Disturbing, that the information was never released to the general public.”
Based on a very elaborate dream I had in which I was a student in this high school. The story goes on to tell how myself and a small group of friends survived the initial wave of attack only to be locked in something similar to a concentration camp where the people around us were slowly being killed off.